March 24, 2012 - 12:44
He looks better. He talks better. He seems better. I observe with bated breath.
He lives in a sober house, and today I dropped him off at the bus stop that would take him there. We had some time to kill, so we went through the drive through to get some soft serve cones and french fries with barbeque sauce. The sun was out at 7 PM, and I felt good.
I drove around a bit aimlessly while the sun was going down and had several revisitations of memories that had been forgotten for what feels like over a decade.
Accidentally killing a mouse with a rock when I was trying to create it a habitat, god how awful; my mother threatening another girls' mother on This Corner while I watched from the car; letting an idiotic boy from church touch my face in a truck, and asking him with the pointed cruelty of a very young teen in fear: "where do you think this is going?", and shoving him away.
I wonder where these memories were hiding? (Perhaps this is a result of treating my brain like a muscle. If school does nothing else except give me back some memories that were lost in the clouds of teenage depressive fog and adult grief, then that will be good enough.)
I love Nampa, even though it has almost no redeeming qualities. There is something to an arbitrary, blind love that will always be important to me, and I won't let it go.
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